


don't shoot the messenger

by borrowedthemoonlite



Category: Victorious (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Love Letters, Love Notes, Summer Jobs, bade prompts, mail, non-hollywood arts AU, post office, print shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedthemoonlite/pseuds/borrowedthemoonlite
Summary: Jade West hates love notes.Until she doesn't.
Relationships: Beck Oliver/Jade West
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Mail





	don't shoot the messenger

Business is incredibly slow at the print shop.

Don’t get her wrong, Jade loves working there. Even if it’s only been three days. The dark wood, the smell of ink, the light from the windows hitting the stacks of thick paper. But print shops aren’t exactly on everyone’s daily agenda. And logically, she knew print shops would be differently paced, it’s why she applied to work there. She thought it would be nicer than having to deal with annoying customers non-stop. And it is. But it’s also slower than she’d hoped. Though, she knows there are worse things than having to sit at the front desk, scrolling on her phone, waiting for someone to walk in through the door. Besides, it’s not like she does any of the heavy lifting around here. She’s only here for a summer job. As an assistant. It’ll be a long time until she does any print screening or art prints.

The shopkeeper’s bell above the door (that’s right, the shop has bells above the door, it’s ridiculously unnecessary but she loves it) rings, breaking her from her endless cycle of scrolling through her feed.

She looks up, ready to process whatever order they need done, but instead she’s met with a boy who can’t be much older or younger than her, parcels tucked under his arm. She might have seen him before at school, though if she has, they don't share any classes or even know each other. Not well, at least.

“I have a delivery,” he announces, looking at her as if he isn’t sure he should be telling her or not. Though she's sitting behind the front desk and wearing a name tag, she doesn't know how much more obvious it could get.

“Yeah I’ll take it,” she replies, reaching over the counter to take them.

She signs off on the packages, marking the delivery off as received in the books, turning her back without even a second look back. He looks around the shop before turning his attentions back to her.

“When did you start here?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. Then a beat. “That came off weird. This is my mom’s place, I didn’t know she hired someone new.”

Ah. Deanna had mentioned her kids multiple times in the few days Jade had been working there. Enough for it to stick with Jade.

“So you’re Beck, then,” she smirked. The middle kid of five siblings and the only brother. Deanna's the kind of mom who's completely and utterly in love with each and every one of her children and Jade's heard more about them than about her actual job as of late.

“Oh, she’s mentioned us to you already.” He seems slightly embarrassed, a flush growing up his neck.

“She has,” she nods in return, holding in a laugh before remembering that introducing herself would probably be the logical next move. “I’m Jade. I started here three days ago.”

“Well, nice to meet you Jade.” He beams, jumping to sit atop the front desk. He jacks a thumb towards the doorway, pointing nowhere in particular, “I work at the post office two blocks from here. I do local deliveries and my mom makes me bring the shipments from her P.O. box during my breaks. But enough about me, why’d you start working here?”

She thinks if it were a different situation, a different person, she’d tell them to mind their own business and send them on their way. But he went through the motions so quickly that he’d sped right through the strangers phase and was bee-lining straight for acquaintances already. The slow pace of the shop had clearly lured her brain to sleep, normally she'd be good at keeping up and keeping him on his toes. But this time, she didn’t even have the time to get mad.

“I don’t know, why does anyone work anywhere?” She scoffs, “I always liked this place though. All the paper and ink.”

She'd come with her dad once when he needed a project done for his job when she was 12 and she fell in love with the place. She never went again after that, after all, 12 year olds don't really need banners and prints. But she kept in mind for when she'd eventually need a job.

“I know,” he agrees, “I used to hang out here all the time when I was younger. I would go to work with my mom when I was five and stay until closing. Annoyed all the customers that would come in.”

“And is that what you’re doing now?” She asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But my mom gets a lot of deliveries so I’m here like every day.”

Upstairs, a door opens and they hear footsteps making their way down the stairs. She cranes her neck, looking over her shoulder. Deanna's making her way down the stairs with an unsurprised but-

“Hi, mom.” He waves up, grinning cheekily.

“I thought I heard you,” Deanna rolls her eyes fondly. “I see you’ve met Jade. Don’t you have some work to do?” 

“Yeah, I _did._ And I’m done for the meanwhile so I’m staying here.”

“Beck.” She gives him the kind of reprimanding look that seemingly only moms can give, “go back to work.” He sighs in defeat, hopping off the counter, clearly not in the mood to start an argument.

“Bye, Jade!” He calls over his shoulder as he wrenches the door open.

And with another ringing of the bell, he’s gone just as quickly as he appeared.

* * *

They have an order for some banners for a swim event at the YWCA. Well. Deanna has an order for some banners for a swim event. Jade just got to process the order.

But it’s still a big order which means the store is busier and more alive than she’s ever seen it. So even though she can’t do much, being in the shop is significantly more exciting than it’s been. Sure, all she can do for now is help restock the inks, but the energy has clearly picked up after what seems to have been a long and dormant sleep. Like a volcano. But with inks and paper and all nice things instead of lava. Though she’d probably like the lava too.

This is more of what she thought she’d be doing when she applied to work here, the draw of one of the only print shops in the state that still did things by hand rather than digitally was irresistible, can anyone blame her? And while she wishes she could do more, stocking the drawer of turquoise ink has her satisfied for now.

The shopkeeper’s bell rings again, drawing her attention to the door. Beck steps in, once again, packages in hand, grinning as his eyes land on her.

“More things?” She asks, shutting the drawer, “or are you just trying to get out of work?”

“I told you, my mom orders a lot of stuff,” he says defensively, examining the package in his hand. “I think this one’s labels or something.”

She takes it, putting the box in the pile for restocking later.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, marking the package as delivered in the books. “Can’t imagine being excited to restock these later, but that’s for me to deal with later.”

“And I believe _this_ is for you.” He mutters, tossing an envelope addressed to her on the counter.

She peers cautiously at the return address, groaning as it registers.

“Are we not a fan of letters?” He asks, his eyes laughing though he doesn’t let it reach his lips.

“No, that’s not it,” she sighs, shoving the letter into her bag for later. “It’s this guy. He’s the son of my dad’s coworker, and our parents have been trying to set us up for ages. So he’s been writing me these letters, but I just. I don’t like him. At all. The only reason we’re being set up is because of the assets and the money.”

Don't get her wrong. She's sure that _somebody_ out there wants a love letter from Brayden Gutowski. However, she is not one of those people. He's too... _Americana_ for her. And anyone who's anyone knows that she isn't the type. It'd be easy to chew him out, to tell him to never speak to her again, but they're family friends and she'd get in too much trouble for it. She doesn't normally mind trouble, but she doesn't think this is worth it. Brayden Gutowski isn't worth a month's grounding and her wifi getting shut off at 11 pm. If she's getting in trouble, she'd like for it to be for a good cause.

“Well, I think if anyone ever handwrote me a love letter, I’d fall in love on the spot,” he laughs, a soft smile settling across his face.

“That’d be all it would take?” She snorts, “but _no,_ this is not one of those love letters. His letters are dreadfully terrible, you wouldn’t want one. I have never hated something as much as I hate these.”

“Letters with an s?” He asks, eyes ablaze with intrigue, “there are more? This is recurring?”

She laughs at his sudden investment. “Yes, it’s my worst recurring nightmare. They come in all the time.” She groans, “I’m telling you, as nice as it sounds, he’s the worst. I just can’t blow him off or else I get in trouble.”

“But if his letters were good?”

“Well if his letters were good I wouldn’t have an issue, now would I? The problem is that they aren’t.”

“So if you got ones you liked?”

“What, are _you_ going to start writing me now?” She scoffs.

“No, but I _could,”_ he shrugs.

She looks back up at him, meeting his eye. It’s been ten days since she started working there, a week since she met him, and six days of deliveries. She’d think that she’d be able to get a better grip of who Beck is by now. Normally, she's quite good at reading people. Moments after meeting them, she's read them like an open book. But clearly whoever Beck Oliver is evades her.

And she thinks it's a little embarrassing that it takes a week for him to become a fixture that she looks forward to, but here she is anyway. It sounds ridiculously soft for her, but she simply enjoys good company, sue her. She thinks he should be more annoying. More insufferable. That she shouldn't like him at all. Jade West is not the kind of person to associate with effortlessly sociable student council golden boys. But she also thinks it would be significantly harder to pretend that she doesn't. 

“Don’t you have packages to deliver?” She asks, rolling her eyes.

“Are you kicking me out?” He puts on an air of mock-offense.

“Yes, and I’ll make your mom do it if you don’t,” she threatens.

And with a roll of his eyes, he leaves through the door, the bell jangling in his wake.

* * *

Things have started picking up at the shop. Which is good, objectively. But it also means Deanna’s been asking her to come in earlier. And she does, because it’s not like she _wants_ to spend any more time at home than she has to. But she's still tired. All the time.

One morning she’s asked to go to the post office and pick up a package for whatever reason.

“I know Beck’ll probably bring it around later, but I could _really_ use that shipment right now,” Deanna says it almost apologetically, as if she’s not the literal boss.

And it’s not like Jade’s particularly useful for any of the heavy lifting, so what does it matter if she goes or not? Besides, it’s a June morning and the post office is only a short walk away.

She heads out the door, rounds the corner, crosses the street, and passes the record store. She’s never been one to take in the sights and she doesn’t intend to start now. She has somewhere to go and she’s not about to waste any time getting there.

Her boots crack against the gravel landscaping as she pulls open the post office door. Notably, there’s no ring of a bell which she finds disappointing more than anything.

She spots him restocking the shelf of shipping envelopes and collapsible boxes whose purposes she can’t be bothered to figure out. Clearing her throat, she lingers in the doorway. It’s still fairly empty, she’s the only non-employee there.

“Hey,” she says, her words echoing slightly.

He turns, a pleasantly surprised smile on his face. “What are you doing here?” He asks, “since when do you stop by?”

“Your mom needs those shipments asap, she sent me to get them. She told me to find you and let you know.”

He frowns slightly, “I was looking forward to visiting you later, but sure, I can get them now.”

He walks out of the room, off to get the packages, and her brain hangs itself up on the singularity or plurality of ‘you,’ but she knows that there are boxes with a higher priority. Though, she’d like to hope it was singular. Otherwise she’s been wasting some of her best conversation potential. Surely he doesn't despise her, though. It'd be impossible, she thinks. She knows she can be incorrigible, but she doesn't think anyone would volunteer to write love notes for someone they hate, joke or not.

But it’s only been a week. What does she know?

"I’m sorry that you can’t come and disrupt us today,” she says dryly as he reappears with the packages in question, placing them next to her on the table. “But I do have a job to do.”

“Hold on, you have more mail,” he says just as she’s about to pick up the boxes and leave.

He leaves again, only to come back two seconds later, an envelope in hand. He adds it to the pile, tucking it between the top two boxes.

“I was gonna drop it off later but while you’re here…” He shrugs.

“Again?!” She all but yells at the sight of the return address. If it were a different time of day she’d surely be in trouble for disrupting the quiet. “It’s been _a day,_ why is he writing me again?”

“I don’t know, I just do the deliveries,” he replies sympathetically.

“Yeah, yeah, not your fault,” she speeds past it, “but still. Who sends out another letter the _day_ after they send one out? I didn’t even _read_ the last one.”

“But maybe this is the good one,” he says hopefully. “Maybe this is the one that doesn’t turn out to be terrible.

“Now do you really think that?” She asks dryly.

He winces, shaking his head, “I just thought you could’ve used the bright side,” he apologizes.

It’s a fine attempt on his part, but she also knows it’s not going to work. She knows herself well enough that 'bright sides' don't really cut it.

But she has prior commitments and an actual job to do, she can’t really stay and complain. She picks up the boxes, and the letter, and makes her way back, pushing the door open as she carries them out of the building, her exit marked with nothing in particular.

* * *

The door swings open and the bell rings through the room. Beck walks in and without an introduction he starts speaking, “Now are you allergic to anything? Because it slipped my mind to ask and if you _are,_ I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“What are you doing here?” She asks, her words laced with mock exasperation, “I already got the mail for today, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But that’s not what I asked,” he reminds her.

She lets out a dramatic sigh, “ _No,_ I’m not allergic to anything. Now you answer my question.”

“Well,” he starts, poorly concealing a proud smile, “you came by earlier so obviously I have nothing to bring around here, but I was thinking, ‘how can I stop by anyway?’ And I figured that lunch break was my best shot, so here I am. I got us food. Forgot to ask you if you were allergic to anything, could’ve gone terribly wrong.”

He places a paper bag on the desk between them and points for emphasis.

“And here I was, thinking I’d get a moment of silence,” she sighs despite herself.

“I can leave if you want," he gives her a doubting look. He knows she doesn't mean half the things she says, but it doesn't stop her from saying them anyway.

“No, you brought food, there’s no backing out now.”

He brought subs, a little boring, but they’re a safe choice so she can’t blame him. Deanna seems a little confused as to why her son’s here without reason, but she doesn’t question it. And if she’s being completely honest, Jade would ask him herself, but it’s the nicest lunch break she’s had in a while. So she doesn’t.

And neither of them talk about the unwanted notes coming through the mail. Neither want to be the one to burst the bubble and ruin what is otherwise shaping up to be a pretty good day. He digs around the front desk for a piece of loose sketch paper and sketches a rough outline of her. And in typical Beck fashion (it’s been less than a month, so really it’s typical for what she knows), he finds it terrible. It isn’t terrible. He just likes to doubt himself, she finds. Though she supposes she does the same thing to herself. Maybe student council's golden boy isn't so dissimilar than her after all.

He leaves a minute before he’s due back at work, almost running himself late.

The bell echoes with his departure.

* * *

She steps out of the shop, the sound of the bell faintly ringing behind her. The windows at the top floor are still dimly lit, all the other workers are still in, finalizing a large print. Not Jade though. She’s done for the day, it’s not like there’s any reason for her to stick around once restocks are done. Besides, if she stays any later it would be too dark, too dangerous for her to walk home alone. Her day ends when it ends, and she has no objections.

She turns a corner, crosses the street. She passes the record store and slows to a stop. Beck’s at the front door, locking up.

“Since when have you worked here?” She asks, startling him slightly.

Picking up the keys he’s just dropped, he quickly regains composure. “It’s my night job,” he says. “I only work the post office during the summer, this is my normal job.”

It makes sense, it _does_ seem like a place she’d find someone like him. A whole lotta wood tones that just seem to _go_ with what she knows about him.

“I’ve always wanted to go in here, I’ve never found the time, but it looks nice,” she peers up at the sign high up on the wall. “Feels like a cool place.”

“It is,” he replies, still looking at her. A look flashes across his face, and for a moment he seems nervous. “Hey can I ask you a question?”

She raises a brow in response. She can't imagine that whatever he wants to ask is _that_ damning. It's been going too well between them for him to hate her just yet.

“Are you free this weekend?” He rushes out.

“Depends. Why?” She asks, crossing her arms. The ground below her cracks as her boots scrape across the pavement.

“My friend’s throwing a party on Saturday. I thought that it’d be fun to go, my band’s playing too.”

Turns out he plays the drums. Something she wasn’t previously aware of. She's surprised he's never mentioned it, but then again. He also didn't mention working at the record shop. Like she's recently come to realize, maybe she isn't as good at reading people as she thought. After all, she still hasn't figured him out, which really shouldn't be a hard task.

She normally makes a habit of saying no to people, she likes being the one to instigate, it gives her more control and helps her feel less helpless. But she thinks she can make an exception this once. After all, she's never given someone like him a chance, and maybe this is the time to start. She's gone out with people in the past, but they've always been like her, jagged around the edges and whatnot. But maybe it's time to give something new a try. Something tamer. Something that balances her out instead of tipping the scale.

“Are you guys any good?” She smirks. She already knows she’ll say yes and end up going, but it’s fun to keep him waiting.

“I’d like to think so, yes,” he answers, clearly unsure.

“You _think?_ Sounds pretty solid to me.”

“And if you need any more reason to go…” He clears his throat once, “I really like hanging out with you, but if I’m honest, I’d rather not do it while my mom’s 20 feet away at all times.”

So maybe the ‘you,’ from earlier _was_ singular, then. 

She laughs, oddly nervous for someone who doesn’t do ‘getting nervous.’

“Okay, I’m in,” she says nonchalantly. “Give me your number, and don’t be late.”

The smile that floods his face makes her want to laugh just a little, but she doesn’t.

“Okay, it’s a deal,” he mutters, still beaming.

It’s starting to get dark, she needs to head home. Impulsively, she rushes in and kisses him shortly, then backs off into the night, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering all the way home.

* * *

He shows up on time, just like he promised.

And he does every day after that, carrying in the deliveries and breaking through the drone of the day. And with every delivery he brings in, he drops a letter in front of her. From him, this time. Not from some watered down Americana wannabe who can't hold a conversation to save his life. She tells him he doesn’t have to write her, that love letters aren’t exactly her forte. But he does it anyway, which is alright with her because god knows they’re one of her favorite parts of the day, though she wouldn't ever admit it.

Every day he comes in, and the bell rings with a new purpose

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like a lot of things I post, but I definitely hate this one. But I really really really wanted to participate in this month's Bade prompt challenge so here you have it. To be fair, I wrote this in less than a week because I had something else written and liked it even less than this, but oh well here we have it. I Apologize Class I Promise Next Month's Will Be Better.


End file.
